Grant gave me a strong bit of side-eye. “That might be a tricky one, Sterling.”
“I don’t care how difficult it is. Let me and my family smooth over the optics after the fact. Understand?” I’d phoned Dad yesterday and he’d mobilised the full force of the Sterlings’ influence. Just like me, Dad was a ruthless bastard when it came to getting what he wanted, and he hated injustice. If the Masons thought they had police officers in their pockets, they were nothing compared to us. We’d been manipulating this country’s legal system for hundreds of years. I’d told Dad everything and he’d been just as appalled as I was. It was rare we used our influence to intervene in any real way, but the power was still there for us to wield. And wield it we would if it was to protect the woman I loved, even if I’d already failed once on that score.
The memory of Clara sobbing into her friend’s jumper yesterday floated through my mind.
I’m not b-b-brave. I’m scared all the time.
Bullshit was that woman not brave. She was a damn sight braver than half of east London, in my opinion. Nobody had ever dared go up against the Masons. Thatsmall woman was taking down an entire crime syndicate, and she didn’t think she was brave?
And bollocks to her being scared all the time. Bollocks to her being scaredever again. I wasn’t having it. Hence my presence at the Mason house today, to make damn fucking sure Frank Mason knew that.
“Fine,” Grant clipped before raising his fist and banging on the front door.
I’d done my research on the Masons over the last few days, so I knew that the massive bloke who opened the door to us was called Pinky, and I knew why. My lip curled as I scanned his beer-bellied body filling the doorway.
“What the fuck do you want?” he asked.
“Good morning, Mr Gibbons,” Grant said in a conversational tone. “We’re here today to arrest all of you and seize all the goods in this property. So if you could kindly move aside, then we––”
“The fuck you are!” shouted Tony Pinky Gibbons. He moved to slam the door in our faces, but my foot shot out to block it from closing.
“We thought you might say that,” I said through a smile before leaning back and hurling my body at the door, using all my weight to shoulder it open. The solid wood slammed into Pinky’s face with a satisfyingthwack, and he staggered back before falling onto his arse in the corridor. I straightened up, readjusted the cuffs of my suit and then strolled into the house, stepping over the prone form of Pinky to walk down the corridor. As I walked in, the armed response unit poured in behind me with their riot gear and weapons, fanning out into the house to swiftly secure all the other rooms.
By the time I’d made it into the kitchen, they had everyone there either at gunpoint or in handcuffs. Except that was, forMrs Mason, who was sitting at the kitchen table in shock.
Grant had offered me the riot gear as well but I’d declined, preferring instead to wear my own kind of armour: a tailored Savile Row three-piece suit.
“What the fuck is going on?” spat Frank Mason as he pushed the officer who was attempting to handcuff him. “You pigs have no bloody right to barge in here! This is private property.”
“Oh, I assure you we have every right,” I told him as various scuffles and arrests were made around us.
“You?” he shouted, his face going red as he pointed at me. “What the fuck areyoudoing here?”
“I wanted to make sure that the dismantlement of your organisation was carried out to my satisfaction.”
“Fuck off back to that snitch cunt,” he spat out as he pulled away from the officer attempting to arrest him.
“Rafe?” I turned towards Grant’s voice and he lifted his visor up to make eye contact with me. “Five minutes, right?”
I nodded. “Five minutes will be sufficient.”
“Mrs Mason,” Grant said in a softer voice to Clara’s mother, who was still frozen in shock at the kitchen table. “If you’d like to come with me into the other room until we’ve cleared the entire house.”
“The entire house?” Marie Mason breathed. “You’re taking… everyone?”
“Yes, everyone.”
“But my son, Zach,” her voice rose in panic. “He’s not––”
“Zach has not been at this house for over forty-eight hours, Mrs Mason,” I told her, not taking my eyes off Frank. “Don’t worry. He’s safe.”
“Oh, right,” she muttered, and a wave of disgust sweptthrough me. What kind of mother was this woman? “But I don’t… Frank? What should I––?”
“Your husband is going to be indisposed for quite some time, Mrs Mason,” I told her, still keeping my eyes on Frank. “I suggest you get used to living a life where you do not defer to his instructions, as he will not be there to dispense them.”
“Mum.” We all looked over to the door of the kitchen where Ruben Mason was standing, staring at his father. “It’s over. You’ve got to listen to the police now, not Dad.” He rubbed his hand down his face, looking utterly defeated. “We should never have listened to that psycho in the first place. Come on.”
Ruben held out his hand and Marie stood up slowly from the table to make her way to him. As they were leaving the kitchen, Ruben looked back at me, meeting my steady gaze before looking away. Two flags of colour appeared high on his cheekbones as his expression flooded with shame.
